


Transparency

by cheetoriko



Series: Transparency and Opacity [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (help how DO I TAG), (uhh how do i even tag), Drunkenness, Light Angst, M/M, Party, Swearing, University, kristopher has to deal with his feelings now and he ain't having a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 10:31:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19130221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheetoriko/pseuds/cheetoriko
Summary: Lucian is drunk. A really mopey, annoying drunk that makes Kristopher question his life choices. Like why in the world he is driving him home from the party he got totally wasted at?





	Transparency

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> thanks for getting me into lucikris, now i will return the favour.

“There’s no way in Hell I’m driving him home.”

Kristopher is beyond it. It is probably obvious because he can even hear his own breathing over the deafening, in both volume and content, dubstep (meaning that Ciara must have been invited – making matters worse if that was even possible).

Nyla sounds out in what could be a laugh or a sigh – it is so sheepish that Kristopher can’t make it out. Her lips twitch into an involuntary grin, meaning that she has not gotten off this idea.

“You see, Kristopher, Natsumi’s completely…well…” Nyla shifts around in place, rubbing her finger against her cheek. Kristopher knows this is all some pity trap, or something, to get him to agree.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Kristopher announces, closing his eyes tight as looking at Nyla’s abashment is getting rather offensive. She was the one to hold this equally as stupid party, she was the one to get Natsumi completely wasted even though there are probably laws against that with her height (seriously, Kristopher didn’t know people that small even existed), she was the one to get _him_ invited too. Speaking of which, knowing _him_ , Kristopher knows that he will be flopped over the couch, his couch, still trying to flirt with anything in a four-foot radius to him because there is no doubt that he is utterly wasted too.

“Please, Kristopher.” Nyla goes to touch Kristopher’s hard-line shoulders before he flinches away. He flaps his hand, both to shoo her away but to say that he will do it. Because whatever.

“Thank you so much, Kristopher. You’re literally a life-saver!” Nyla is able to say that fast enough before Kristopher could give his decision a second thought. Kristopher sharply inhales, kind of wishing that she had at least got him out of the room.

Kristopher turns the doorknob, his stomach turning as well in scary synchronization. He slides into the room as discreet as possible, trying to shrink away at the scene in front of him.

The living quarters are a mess. In every form, it is chaotically, contemptibly, and to the fucking core a mess. It seems like there is one thousand drunk “young and responsible” adults, all reeking of all sorts of alcohol (Kristopher doesn’t drink, so he can’t tell apart all the scents, but one thing is that all these smells are suffocating him like the cloud of smoke that someone “vaped” in his face). It is too crowded, so much so that people are actually just fucking standing on the tables not because they are, you know, going apeshit, but because there is no breathing room on the ground. It is too hot, as there is, like, one thousand damn people pressing their sweaty bodies onto each other to make their sweaty bodies bump into Kristopher so that a giant, fevered fog can be created in the room, or something like that. Someone crashes into Kristopher, and since his legs are shaking so much, Kristopher tumbles over like an actual moron.

Believe it or not, Kristopher was having a rather good night before he came home to this. Before this, he was in the library with Robin and Daniel. The only loud thing he had to witness there was Daniel’s keen “requests” to get coffee from the café (despite being leather jackets and obnoxious perm hair, Daniel is more respectful than anyone else on campus. As proof, he had stacked at least five coffees for Kristopher alone, and then earnestly got him sugar and milk packets to go too) and the only remotely gross thing he had to witness there was Daniel asking Robin to stay the night with him (which, really, wouldn’t lead to anything. Robin is, just like his name suggests, babyishly birdbrained, and Daniel would prioritise helping old ladies across the road before even thinking of kissing Robin). Although he was in the disposition as the third wheel there, there was something oddly relaxing about such disposition. It was the sort of transparency Kristopher could get behind.

Here, although there are mobs of people, Kristopher is in no way transparent. He tries his best to be, crossing his arms crushingly to his chest as he crunches past the crowds, but he can still feel, hear and smell them. Everything is too close for comfort, and Kristopher hates it. He hates it so much.

There is some short-lasting relief when Kristopher finally spots Lucian, slumping against the wall. He eyes at him for a while, like a predator to prey. Lucian is puffy-eyed, misty-eyed, and…crying? Kristopher shakes his head, feeling himself going dizzy for standing around for too long. He storms up to Lucian as if Lucian even being here is insulting (as, really, it is).

“Lucian! I swear to God, Lucian!” Kristopher hates shouting, and the fact that Lucian isn’t even replying adds insult to injury. He grips his wrist, tugging it. Kristopher clenches his jaw so hard that it makes his neck go stiff in exasperation (if that is possible - it certainly seems like the case) because Lucian has his head stuck in the clouds almost as much as Robin. Lucian does seem to acknowledge him, but it’s just a grunt from his downturned mouth.

“Lucian, we’re getting out of here!” Kristopher yanks at his arm, and it flops down like a noodle (no wonder they call him “noodle arms”). Kristopher has to jerk his head back around, plagued by the fact that Lucian, despite his slackness, is alert enough to refuse to follow him.

“Lucian, come on!” Kristopher uses both of his hands this time to grudgingly hitch Lucian along the room. Lucian moves in a heavy-footed trudge, unwillingly following along.

Thankfully, he gets Lucian to his car without much hassle from there. He demands Lucian to sit down and put his seatbelt on as he fixes his car’s mirrors. Kristopher rolls back his shoulders and collapses to his seat after that, staring mindlessly into the distance before starting the engine.

The weirdest thing is though that Lucian did not say a word when Kristopher was doing any of that. Lucian has been too stooped over his fiddling hands to really make any flirtatious remarks and, honestly, Kristopher is not sure what to make of that. He doesn’t know if this is the transparency he has been seeking, as there is something off about it. Before he can think about that, Lucian clears his throat in a hiccup.

“Do you hate me, Kristopher?” Lucian implores, his voice choked up with slurred sobs.

“You aren’t really my favourite person at the moment.” Kristopher gives that to him, knowing that ‘no’ could send him into wailing. Yet, Kristopher’s answer doesn’t really prevent this inconvenience, as Lucian begins sniffing (loudly so it is clear) in his seat.

“They were so mean to you, you know?” He goes on, his voice perking up to tearfulness as he speaks, “I saw that they pushed you over! That’s so mean, they’re – they’re just meanies!”

Kristopher rolls his eyes and mutters out a “Yeah yeah”, as he has to take a turning soon and really doesn’t need Lucian chirping into his ear.

“Hey, Kristopher, why-why won’t you look at me?” Kristopher can feel Lucian’s intent eyes on him, and he won’t let the excuse that he is a sad-ass drunk get in the way of his vow not to look directly at this god-almighty, annoying face.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

Lucian is beginning to sound like one of those inquisitive children, asking the “why” for everything. Kristopher supposes that, through and through, he really is a child.

“Do – Do you hate me so much you can’t even – hic – even spare a glance my way? Just w-why won’t you pay attention to me?”

Kristopher knows giving him attention would be the worst thing to do, as, after all, he is driving right now. He physically can’t look at Lucian, and that’s the best excuse he can come up with in his head.

“Please look at me.”

Kristopher does not look.

“J-Just for once – ugh! Fucking – Fucking look at me!”

Lucian jerks at Kristopher’s shoulder, ruining Kristopher’s coordination and his turn and before they know it…they’ve crashed into some bush off the road. Kristopher curses aloud and jolts his shoulder out of Lucian’s disgustingly desperate grasp. Lucian, to add to this drama, bangs his head onto the, uh, whatever you call the thing above the car’s air vents (Jesus, they never taught Kristopher what that even _was_ when he was learning to drive. Or maybe they did – Kristopher isn’t really sure what is going on at this point). Lucian begins crying, so ear-splittingly to practically destroys Kristopher’s head even more.

“You really do hate me, huh?”

Kristopher can’t resist anymore and just looks at Lucian. He is slouched over, his face completely covered, but his shoulders are quaking up and down, trembling. Kristopher knew if he could see his face, it’d be the opposite of everything that defines the dickhead that is Lucian Elizondo – he would have splotchy, red skin; an unkempt curl; and a frown that would make all his other features frown like it was the end of the world. God, maybe this is the end of the world? Kristopher blankly looks up at the ceiling of his car, thinking that it must be too early in the morning for this.

He remembered why he hated Lucian Elizondo when he met him. He was on Maxwell’s course or something and was working on a course with careers that didn’t really exist. It was along the lines of robotics or artificial intelligence or some computer mumbo jumbo that Kristopher could never really get into, despite Maxwell’s excited ramblings. Lucian was Maxwell’s best friend, and he was a flat-out douchelord. And Maxwell was just too kind and too good for him and he couldn’t stand that.

And Maxwell was his ex. Because Maxwell was everything that Kristopher ever wanted, but he kept being everything that Kristopher wanted too. He had the patience that would make Kristopher lose his patience; he would have the loyalty that would make Kristopher question his. Kristopher realized there was nothing for him to give to Maxwell, as Maxwell was too kind and too good for him too…and eventually, he couldn’t stand that either.

They broke up. It was three in the morning, and Maxwell couldn’t sleep. Kristopher couldn’t sleep because of it so he told him when he dropped him back at his dorms after driving him around campus (those were dates of some sort to them). Kristopher can’t remember which one of them cried if anyone of them did. But he thought that would be the end of Maxwell, and that would be the end of Lucian.

Yet, Lucian was still there. He kept bugging Kristopher at lunchtimes, kept whistling at Kristopher when he saw him walk down the hallways, he just kept being there - even though Lucian was nothing that Kristopher ever wanted. 

Lucian was self-centred, perverted, boisterous, insensitive, intolerant and…no, so, Kristopher was an elitist. He was a fucking elitist who thought he was better than Lucian and paid him no attention because he wasn’t any of those things. But he was insecure, snarky, impatient, judgemental, heavy-handed…and he was not any better than Lucian.

He didn’t know what he could give to Lucian, but there must be something if he was bothering him so much.

Kristopher remembers that it is three in the morning.

“Come on, let’s get you home. You’re tired, yeah?” Kristopher’s voice is gentle now, maybe because there is something scratching on his throat. He brushes his hand on Lucian, feeling the edges of his shoulders as he lets his hand drop back onto the steering wheel. He brushes his hand across his nose too.

Lucian reverts back to his sprawled position over the passenger’s seat, and Kristopher looks at him sometimes when he begins driving again. He looks just as he thought, but possibly even more grubby with snot smeared across his face and with the alcohol stanching off him (Kristopher thinks it is expensive alcohol. He wonders if anyone shared it with him).

Kristopher sneers. Gross.

Kristopher stops the car when he reaches Lucian’s dorms. He gets out of the car and meets Lucian at his door. It is harder to drag Lucian back to the dorms’ doors, not because Lucian is being uncooperative (this time around, he grunted but got out of the car on command), but maybe because Kristopher’s muscles feel slack or maybe because Kristopher’s limbs feel loose. Whatever.

Kristopher stares at Lucian a while. He thinks he will leave him here to go back to his room himself, after all, he doesn’t want Maxwell to see them coming in. He might get that idea.

Kristopher doesn’t really know if that’d be the wrong idea though. Because there is something about being out here, in the freezing cold that comes with the crack of dawn, with only Lucian, who is mumbling something to himself. Because there is something so peculiarly peaceful about it, something so inexplicably fulfilling about it.

It is the transparency that Kristopher wants.

 


End file.
